


this love of mine

by leviathans_watching



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Carly Rae Jepsen References, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Charm Power, Cussing, Dork Victor Nikiforov, Fire Powers, Flower Magic, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Healthy Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Change, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, early 2000s pop, lots of friendship - Freeform, tech power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathans_watching/pseuds/leviathans_watching
Summary: Affection bloomed in Yuuri’s heart and flowers bloomed in his palms.Viktor pulled into his final position, chest heaving. Belatedly, Yuuri realized he had made an entire flower crown, blue roses the same shade as Viktor’s eyes, woven together artfully, creating a tight circle with a soft, yet distinct fragrance.In a moment of impulsivity, Yuuri tossed the crown down onto the ice, amidst a sea of hundreds, maybe even thousands of other gifts and offerings.And, against all odds, Viktor Nikiforov picked it up, staring at it for a moment before placing it upon his head, where it would stay as he received his scores, got his medal, and even stood on the podium. Yuuri’s flowers, broadcasted to millions.*When Yuuri manifested, it was with, well, flower power. The ability to grow plants with his hands wasn’t something he could have said he expected, but he couldn’t say he minded it either.Not when it allowed him to be a part of his idols' life, if even it was only for a moment.OR, a semi-meandering account of how Yuuri started anew under Yakov Feltsman's coaching.
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti & Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri, Yakov Feltsman & Katsuki Yuuri
Comments: 17
Kudos: 192





	this love of mine

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in the works for a little while which is why i haven't been as active lately, especially on tumblr. it's my first complete (and believe me, there have been several attempted) yoi fic and i'm happy with how it turned out. 
> 
> as always, lmk if there are grammar/spelling mistakes [unbeta'd]
> 
> housekeeping:  
> \- yuuri has an anxiety attack in one part of this! to skip it, ctrl f from '"Holy hell,"' to 'Opening the bathroom door'...  
> \- this fic takes place over ~6 months. i tried to show that with the weather and other small details, but yk, it's not always obvious and i just wanted to avoid confusion  
> \- im a slut for yuuri & phichit's friendship so it may seem a bit ooc but can you blame me  
> \- ooc warning goes for other characters as well (in general) but i did my best  
> \- yes, you read the tags right! this is casual/realistic magic! while it doesn't play a huge role through the work outside of how it relates to yuuri, just keep in mind this is a magical au  
> \- it’s never explicitly mentioned but viktor’s has no power
> 
> that should be it! enjoy reading!

For Yuuri, it starts like this:

An email, sitting innocently in his inbox, from one FeltsmanCoaching@gmail.com. An email, as Yuuri would find it, that would change the course of his life forever.

*

For Yuuri, it really starts like this:

2001 Junior World Championships, held in Sofia, Bulgaria. Yuuri sat sandwiched between his two best friends, Yuuko and Takeshi, at Armeets Arena. Well, Yuuko was his best friend for sure, but Takeshi still denied their friendship. His ballet teacher, Minako, sat a few rows behind them, a seating situation that gave them a sense of maturity yet made sure they were still safe.

The whole stadium seemed to hold its breath as the final contestant of the night glided to the center of the rink, movements lithe and graceful. It was Viktor Nikiforov, preparing to perform his free skate. He had done astonishingly on his short program, The Lilac Fairy, meaning viewers were on the edge of their seats to see what the seventeen-year-old would do.

Yuuri included.

They hadn’t been able to see the short programs in person due to financial reasons (honestly, Yuuri knew it was a splurge to bring the three of them to the event in the first place), but being able to see the free skate more than made up for it.

“Yuu-chan, Yuu-chan, it’s Viktor!” Yuuri whisper-shouted, clutching at her arm.

“I know! Oh my god, this is really happening! We’re really seeing Viktor Nikiforov in person!” Yuuko replied, eyes sparkling as she gazed downward.

On Yuuri’s other side, Takeshi scoffed, slouching in his seat. When Yuuri turned to look at him, though, he saw the glint of interest in his eyes.

The lights dimmed and the stadium hushed, and soon, soft notes floated out of the speakers, light and airy. Viktor began to move.

Yuuri’s hold on Yuuko’s arm tightened.

Yuuri, absolutely entranced, felt like he couldn’t even blink. He was already a fan, but nothing, nothing could have prepared him for seeing Viktor in person.

It was sheer magic, the way he moved across the ice. Viktor, beautiful Viktor, danced so smoothly, so wonderfully, that Yuuri knew he had to skate on the same ice as him one day, even if it meant sacrificing everything. Some primal part of him was screaming to do anything he could to get there, to stand next to him, no matter what it took.

(And Yuuri listened.)

Viktor’s hair, pulled into a gleaming ponytail, whipped as Viktor dropped into an impossibly fast spin, becoming a blur of blue and silver on the ice. In an instant, Viktor was out of the spin and entering a jump, landing a triple salchow without a hitch.

Gorgeous.

Yuuri wished the commentators would just shut up so he could hear the music, so he could hear Viktor, hear the words he said with every move, as he had no doubt it was a lovely ode to the ice.

Affection bloomed in Yuuri’s heart and flowers bloomed in his palms.

Viktor pulled into his final position, chest heaving. Belatedly, Yuuri realized he had made an entire flower crown, blue roses the same shade as Viktor’s eyes, woven together artfully, creating a tight circle with a soft, yet distinct fragrance.

“Yuuri-kun!” Yuuko gasped, looking down at the flowers. It was the first time she had looked away from Viktor since he had stepped onto the ice.

In a moment of impulsivity, Yuuri tossed the crown down onto the ice, amidst a sea of hundreds, maybe even thousands of other gifts and offerings.

And, against all odds, Viktor Nikiforov picked it up, staring at it for a moment before placing it upon his head, where it would stay as he received his scores, got his medal, and even stood on the podium. Yuuri’s flowers, broadcasted to millions.

“You manifested!” It was Yuuko’s turn to grip Yuuri’s arm. “Yuuri-kun, you have powers!”

Yuuri stared at the roses, the beautiful roses, then at his hands, his normal hands.

“I did what?”

Yuuko shook Yuuri’s arm excitedly. “You have powers! This is amazing! Take-kun, did you see?”

Takeshi grunted.

“I have powers,” Yuuri echoed. “I’m not-” Boring. “I can do things.”

“We have to tell Minako right away!” Yuuko continued to speak, but Yuuri wasn’t listening. He had just manifested. Him! Lame, ordinary Yuuri Katsuki had manifested. It was something he thought was impossible for him.

But, against all odds, he did it! He could… grow plants? He’d have to explore that more later.

Yuuko pulled a still-dazed Yuuri along, dodging through the crowd and eventually finding Minako at their previously decided upon meet-up spot.

“Minako-sensei! Yuuri-kun manifested!” Yuuko cheered breathlessly, beaming. “He did it!”

Minako raised an eyebrow, looking at Yuuri. “Oh yeah? What happened?”

“Flowers,” Yuuri managed.

“He just made flowers grow!” Yuuko explained, taking over. “And, get this! They’re the ones Viktor has on his head! Isn’t that amazing?”

Minako’s eyes widened. She looked to the big screens, where there was an up-close of Viktor, who waved, blue roses standing out against his hair. “That’s great, kiddo. We’ll talk more about this back at the hotel room, okay? But right now, we should celebrate, you manifested and Vikor Nikiforov won.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, following her out of the arena, Yuuko and Takeshi not far behind.

It started for Yuuri Katsuki when he manifested and became a part of his idol’s life, if only for a moment.

*

“Phichit-kun, holy shit,” Yuuri looked away from his laptop and towards his roommate, who was lounging next to him on his bed, idly scrolling through one social media or another.

“What’s up?” Phichit asked, looking away from his phone. Wordlessly, Yuuri shoved his laptop towards him.

“We would like to offer Yuuri Katsuki a place under Yakov Feltsman’s coaching. We are willing to discuss any concerns about living expenses and coaching fees. Please call Mr. Feltsman with your response or any questions as soon as possible,” Phichit read slowly. “What? He’s offering to coach you? What are you going to say?”

Yuuri closed his eyes. “I don't know. I’d obviously have to move to Russia, and to be honest, I’m not sure if I have the money for that.”

“But in the email, it said they’d discuss expenses,” Phichit pointed out. “What are you really so worried about?”

Damn him for being able to read Yuuri so well.

“Why are they offering me a position? After I came in last at the-” He couldn’t even say the name of the competition. “I don’t deserve it. I’m not good enough. And, I’d have to leave you and Ciao Ciao.”

Phichit snorted. “They wouldn't be reaching out to you if they thought you weren’t good enough. Sure, you came in last, but you’re still sixth-best in the world, okay? And even if you did go to Russia, it’s not like we would just stop being friends. I’ll always be here for you.”

“I have to talk to Ciao Ciao,” Yuuri said, and Phichit patted him on the back soothingly.

“At least try to muster up some more excitement? If you do take the offer, you’ll get to interact with Viktor Nikiforov almost every day!”

Yuuri groaned. “After my terrible performance? How could I ever face him?”

“We’ve been over this,” Phichit said. “The Grand Prix Final performance was out of your hands. You did the best you could, considering the circumstances.”

“Yeah, but not everyone has a full-on breakdown after their dog dies,” Yuuri whispered pathetically, and Phichit rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t feel bad for feeling how you feel, okay? Now let’s set this aside for tonight and watch cute hamster videos.”

“You’re a good friend.” The words are somewhat muffled by the duvet Yuuri was smashing his face into, but Phichit heard them all of the same.

“I know.” He grinned broadly, making Yuuri’s computer open up YouTube. Phichit’s gift, while subtle, was perfect for him: minor control over electronics that he used to his every advantage.

(Yuuri was a bit jealous; Phichit was the only one to be able to get good WiFi in the library. The rest of them had to wait forever for things to load.)

Gifts were, while not common, not rare either. Nearly 40% of the population had some sort of power or gift that manifested sometime through their life. Most had subtle powers that helped them in their day-to-day lives, while others possessed great strength, able to change the world around them with just a snap of a finger. Those kinds of people were incredibly rare, though, which Yuuri supposed was a good thing for the general populace.

He himself had a modest elemental gift. The ability to grow plants and influence nature was a relatively uncommon gift, and, in Yuuri’s experience, generally unremarkable.

Nothing to write home about, unlike those who could create powerful tsunamis or read minds. Just a pretty trick.

Not that Yuuri was ungrateful for his gift, of course, but it wasn’t a big deal or something he showed off often.

In fact, Yuuri had made the decision to keep his power hidden when he entered the skating world. It wasn’t for any particularly intense reason, just powers often garnered attention, and that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to be known for his skating, not for his power. 

Of course, his coach and all ISU officials knew, but skaters were allowed their privacy, which let Yuuri skate, powers relatively unknown. If he counted, very few people knew about his gift, with the only people in Detroit being Celestino and Phichit.

He hadn’t even planned to tell Phichit, but living together and being best friends for over five years allowed some secrets to be let out.

Turning his attention to his laptop, Yuuri cooed over the hamsters, letting Phichit commandeer his attention for the rest of the night.

*

“So you got an email from Yakov Feltsman, offering a position under his tutelage?” Celestino confirmed, and Yuuri nodded nervously, shifting slightly. would he be offended? Hurt? Angry? Oh god, Yuuri had totally failed him as a student, hadn’t he?

“That’s great, Yuuri!” Celestino clapped him on the back, knocking the air out of his lungs. “I think you should seriously consider it. It’s a great opportunity!”

“What?” Yuuri asked, looking up at him. “I should?”

“Of course. I’d be sad to lose you as a student, no doubt about it, but it’s my duty to make you the best and I think you could really grow, heh, get it, into your potential under Coach Feltsman.”

Ignoring Celestino’s horrible pun, Yuuri bit his lip. “Do you think I’d even be able to afford him?”

“Let’s find out.” Celestino pulled out his phone and started inputting numbers, probably the number listed at the end of Yuuri’s email.

“Right now?”

“No time like the present!” Celestino grinned, putting the phone on speaker. It rang for a few seconds before the call got picked up.

“Da?” A gruff voice answered and Yuuri felt faint.

“Hello, this is Celestino Cialdini. I’m calling to respond to your email offering my student, Yuuri Katsuki. a place in Russia.”

There was a loud background noise and some muffled yelling on the other side of the line and Yuuri was vaguely worried for a moment.

“Ah, yes. This is Feltsman speaking. What do you think?”

“We had some questions. Can we discuss fees and the lodging situation, then draw up a potential contract?” Celestino winked a Yuuri, who sat down on the nearby bench.

Feltman’s terms were surprisingly modest. The fees were about the same as the ones he was paying now, and in exchange for an apartment shared with another skater, he’d watch out for the skater somewhat.

“Do you find that acceptable?” Feltsman asked, and Yuuri looked to Celestino, who shrugged.

“I’ll need a few days to think about it, but please send over the contract for me to look over again on my own time. Thank you for offering me this position, Mr. Feltsman,” Yuuri said politely, and his coach nodded.

“Hmph,” Feltsman grunted, which Yuuri took tentatively as agreement.

A few hours later found Yuuri and Phichit at a campus cafe, drinking boba. Well, the American version of it.

“You’re obviously going to take the offer, right?” Phichit pressed, and Yuuri looked at him honestly.

“I don’t think there’s a reality where I wouldn’t. I just have to figure out how to tell my family.” Yuuri took a slow sip of his tea. “I just… I’m going to have to completely start over in a new country with people I don’t know and a language I don’t speak. it’s going to be hard.” He had already done it once, and even if it had given him some of the best years of his life, he wasn’t eager to do it again.

“What? You mean you were an ultra-mega Viktor fanboy and never learned Russian?” Phichit teased and Yuuri made a face at him.

“Very funny.”

“I do know how you feel.” Phichit sobered. “But hey, at least you sort of know what it’s going to be like now. And I’ll only be a facetime away,” Phichit comforted, making Yuuri snort.

“True.”

“Didn’t Feltsman say you were going to be living with another skater? Do you know who it is?” Phichit continued, and Yuuri shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t mentioned, but it’s probably in the contract.”

Phichit’s whole face lit up. “What if it’s Viktor? You’d be lining a Wattpad fantasy~”

Yuuri blushed. “It’s not going to be Viktor. He probably has his own super cool, super expensive place. He definitely doesn’t need a roommate.”

“What about that Junior skater?” Phichit pressed. “The one who yelled at you in the bathroom. What was his name?”

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Yuuri recalled with a shudder, remembering how the kid had yelled at him in the bathroom. “I hope it’s not him.”

*

Spoiler Alert: it was Yuri Plisetsky.

“Um, hello,” Yuuri greeted awkwardly, clenching his fists to make sure nothing sprung from his nervousness.

“What’s he doing here?” Yuri spat, and Yuuri winced. Feltsman just sighed, shaking his head.

“Be polite. He’s going to be your new housemate, training under me from now on.” Walking into the small apartment, Feltsman beckoned Yuuri to follow him. Yuuri did after a second, picking up the two suitcases he had brought with him. The rest of his things would be arriving later in the week.

“What?” Yuri trailed into a string of angry Russian, and Yuuri managed to pick out Viktor’s name, but not much else. Yakov’s grumbling reply was also in Russain, and Yuuri felt even more out of place than he had previously.

“This will be your room,” Feltsman said shortly, and Yuuri swallowed, pushing the door open with his knee. It was bigger than he had expected, with an unmade bed, empty dresser, and bedside table. The room was bland and unwelcoming, kind of like Yuuri’s impression of Russia as a whole. He thought back to his cozy dorm room back in Detroit and bit his cheek.

“I will leave you and Yura to get acquainted. Tomorrow you will get a tour of the rink.” Feltsman, who Yuuri had momentarily forgotten about, spoke, surprising Yuuri. He spun around, cheeks slightly pink.

“Of course. Thank you, Mr. Feltsman. I look forward to skating under you.”

His new coach appraised him, before bowing his head. “Just call me Yakov. Everyone does.”

“Right.” Yuuri hesitantly smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Feltsman,  _ Yakov,  _ Yuuri reminded himself, disappeared down the hall. Yuuri blew out a breath, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket. Probably Phichit.

Once travel plans were finalized, Phichit took Yuuri out for a going-away celebration, patting his back as he explained to his family what was happening. Mari had told him to chase his dreams, perhaps a bit knowingly, before teasing him about Viktor. His parents, though saddened, told him to do what he needed to do.

Minako just chortled, telling him he did a good job.

Once the calls were over, Phichi coaxed Yuuri to a bar, where they had a last hurrah, though Yuuri went easy on the alcohol, now wanting to be hungover on the plane.

At the airport, Yuuri had sworn to him and Celestino he wouldn’t be a stranger, discreetly blooming a flower and tucking it behind Phichit’s ear. Of course, he had then been subject to about a million selfies, but it was worth it.

_ phi: you landed yet? met your roomie? _

_ yuuri: yes and yes _

_ yuuri: i’m staying with plisetsky _

_ phi: *shocked face emoji* _

_ phi: oh shit really?? sry bout that _

_ yuuri: yeah _

_ yuuri: gtg for now but call before bed? _

_ phi: duh <333 _

Looking up, Yuuri saw Yuri standing in the doorway to his room, scowling. “C’mon,” he snapped, blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. “Let’s get this stupid house tour over.”

Yuuri followed him around the apartment, familiarizing himself with its layout. There was one bathroom, which they’d have to work with, but apart from that, Yuuri envisioned himself being able to stay mostly out of Yuri’s way.

“I,” Yuri unwillingly opened up. “have a cat. That better not be a problem. She’s pretty shy, though, so don’t go scaring her!”

“It’s not an issue,” Yuuri assured him. “I have-” he corrected himself, growing quiet. “had, I mean. I had a dog, so I’m cool with pets.”

Feeling exhausted, but more importantly, hungry, Yuuri peeked in the fridge, pursing his lips at the lack of food.

“Haven’t gone shopping recently.” Yuri defensively crossed his arms. “If you’re hungry, you can order something.”

“I don’t speak Russian,” Yuuri admitted, and Yuri’s scowl deepened.

“Of course you don’t. Whatever. Just tell me what you want and I’ll order it, I guess.”

Yuuri bobbed his head, relieved. “Thanks.”

Yuri didn’t reply, stomping back into the living room. Yuuri stared after him for a moment, before turning back to the kitchen. Most of the dishes were clean, laying in a drying rack, and the whole thing was cleaner than he would’ve expected, if not a little empty.

Shivering, Yuuri headed back to his room, where he began to unpack the limited things he had. His clothes went into the closet and dresser, toiletries by the door for him to bring to the bathroom, and skates and skating gear in the corner of the room. He’d need a better place for them, but for now, that would do.

Shutting his door, Yuuri quickly relayed his dinner order to Yuri, before quickly ducking into the bathroom to set out his things.

He looked tired and unkempt in the mirror, so Yuuri busied himself with washing his face and running his fingers through his hair, patting himself dry with his sweatshirt sleeve.

Staring at himself for a second, Yuuri allowed himself to breathe, counting in his head. He could make it through the night. He could do this.

Yuuri must have been in the bathroom longer than he thought, because he heard Yuri yell, signaling the food had arrived.

Hurriedly exiting the bathroom, he found Yuri sprawled across the couch, his feet up on the coffee table. Yuuri unwrapped his take-out, sitting as far away from him on the modest couch he could, feeling a little bad. 

Yuri seemed to not have known he was going to be sacrificing his literal home to someone he barely knew, and if Yuuri was in his shoes, he doubted he would be a good host either. Hopefully, they could establish a relationship of sorts, and if not that, at least a rhythm. 

Finishing up his food, Yuuri stood. “I can take your trash if you’re done,” he offered hesitantly, and green eyes raised to meet his. 

“Thanks,” Yuri said minutely, handing over his trash. Still feeling very out-of-place, Yuuri threw the trash away, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Staring out the kitchen window, which faced the park across the street, Yuuri wished it was warmer out so he could spend some time there. 

Parks were a good outlet, and usually helping the gardens was a good and safe way to let some of his powers out. He spent his time coaxing flowers to bloom and making sure everything was decently cared for, something he hoped the plants appreciated. 

As he finished his glass, Yuuri looked around the kitchen, which was pretty drab. Maybe he could put a vase on the windowsill? That’d brighten the place up. He’d have to come up with a good excuse for where he got the flowers though, in case Yuri asked. 

Washing the cup, Yuuri set it with the other dishes on the drying rack, wiping his hands on his pants. He really was ready for bed. 

“Goodnight, Yuri,” Yuuri said as he passed through the living room. He got a grunt in response, which was better than nothing. Stopping one last time in the bathroom to brush his teeth and pee, Yuuri then headed to his room, practically falling into bed. 

Setting an alarm for the next day, Yuuri tried not to think about the fact he was possibly meeting Viktor. God, it’d be just like him to make a giant fool of himself. 

_ Only time will tell,  _ Yuuri reminded himself, pulling the covers over himself. Whatever happened would happen. 

*

When his alarm went off, Yuuri wanted to die. He was still jet-lagged, yet knew there wasn’t wiggle room for him to sleep longer. Quickly gathering the things he needed to shower, Yuuri made his way to the bathroom, still yawning. 

If there was anything he knew about teenagers, it was that they supposedly slept in, so hopefully, he wouldn’t be cutting into Yuri’s bathroom time. 

Checking his phone as he turned on the shower, Yuuri saw a bunch of missed messages from Phichit. Quickly tapping out a generic _ ‘sorry, fell asleep,’  _ Yuuri checked the rest of his notifications before setting his phone on the counter. 

The shower was hot, steam rising into the air. The heat helped him wake up, leaving him feeling clean and refreshed, all of the grime from the plane washing away. 

Wrapping his towel around himself, the towel his mom had packed for him before he left for Detroit, it all kind of hit him how unbelievable this all was. Here he was, in Russia, about to be coached by someone who coached the greatest skater alive, when he wasn’t even that good. Yakov had to be making a mistake. 

Yuuri was going to get on the ice and people would see how bad he was. How much of an imposter he was. They’d take one look at him and start laughing, and he’d be back on a plane to Detroit before he could say ‘Stammi Vicino’.

Breathing shallowly, Yuuri stepped out of the shower, standing in front of the mirror. Wiping at it revealed his hazy reflection, face flushed, whether it was from the heat or nerves, Yuuri didn’t know.

Letting a sprig of lavender sprout, Yuuri inhaled its familiar scent, coaxing the hard lines of his shoulders down. He could do this. He had so many people counting on him. He had to do this.

Throwing on some exercise wear, Yuuri picked up his discarded pajamas, wiping the residual water off of the tile floor.

Tip-toeing back to his room, Yuuri made his bed, throwing his dirty clothes in the corner. His hamper had yet to arrive.

Rolling out his yoga mat, Yuuri went through his old ballet stretches, determined to keep up his morning routine even if he was on a different continent. He was, at this point, striving to keep a hold on even a crumb of normalcy.

As he finished up the last of his stretches, feeling a bit better, Yuuri heard the tell-tale signs that Yuri was up, if the stomping and banging around in the kitchen was any indication.

He assumed Yuri was not a morning person.

Making sure his skating gear was all together, Yuuri brought the bag with him out of his room, setting it by the door.

“Good morning,” he greeted Yuri softly, padding into the kitchen. He was sitting at the small table, a bowl of reheated leftovers in front of him.

“Morning, or whatever,” Yuri said back, around a mouthful of food. “There’s tea if you want it.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri replied, instantly gravitating towards the kettle.

“Don’t get it twisted,” Yuri scowled. “I didn’t do it for you, I just like tea in the morning.”

Not sure what to say to that, Yuuri just rooted around for a mug, biting his lip. The tea in America was nothing like in Japan, so honestly, Yuuri had no idea what to expect from Russian tea. Grabbing the first tea bag he saw, he poured the boiling water over it, letting it steep.

“Jam’s in the fridge.” Yuri flicked his head towards the refrigerator.

“Jam?”

Great. Now Yuri was looking at Yuuri like he was stupid. “For your tea.”

“Jam in my tea?” Yuuri couldn't stop the grimace that slid across his face. “That sounds disgusting.” After a pause, he realized he might have just insulted Yuri, even if it was in an off-handed way. “Sorry. I’ve just never heard of that before.”

Yuri scoffed. “It’s the only way we drink tea here, so.”

Nodding with a short bob of his head, Yuuri spotted a cat slink into the kitchen. “Is that your cat? What did you say their name was?”

The cat jumped up onto the table, and Yuri graced it with some head scratches. “Her name is Potya.”

“Cute name,” Yuuri complimented, wrapping his hands around his mug.

Yuri gave a non-committal sound, rising from his seat fluidly. If Yuuri hadn't known he was a skater before, he probably would’ve been able to tell just from the way he moved.

Stepping aside so Yuri could wash his bowl, Yuuri stared out the window. The winter season was mid-way through, the February wind whipping the snow around as it fell. The only consolation was that it’d be spring soon, Yuuri’s favorite season.

A knock on the door startled Yuuri out of his reverie, and Yuri muttered some low curses as he went to open the door. A red-headed girl stood on the other side, swinging a keychain around on her finger. Without a word, Yuri slammed the door in her face.

Yuuri could only watch.

The knocking returned, with a vengeance, the pounds nearly making the door shake. The girl shouted something in Russian, making Yuri groan expressively before opening the door reluctantly.

“Hi!” The girl bounded into the room, nearly bowling over Yuri. “I’m Mila, one of Yuri’s rink mates. It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard  _ so  _ much about you.”

Trying to figure out where she could have heard ‘so much’ about him, Yuuri shook her hand. “Yuuri. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“So polite!” Mila crowed. “I’ve been tasked with driving you to the rink today! Yuri here usually walks or takes the bus, but Yakov decided that’d be cruel to a newcomer.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri slings his skating bag over his shoulder, kneeling down to put on his shoes.

“Oh hell no!” Yuri protested violently. “I am not getting into a car with you, hag! You’re a terrible driver.”

Mila pouted, lip-gloss shining in the overhead light. “I’m a fine driver! You’re just sensitive.”

“Am not,” Yuri argued.

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Uh-huh!”

Am-“ Yuri cut himself off, sending a sharp look to Yuuri, who kept his gaze aimed at his laces. So he could act like a kid, huh?

It took a few minutes for Yuri to gather his things, during which Mila filled Yuuri in on the latest gossip from the rink, most of it stuff he could hardly follow.

“Viktor’s so happy you’re arriving, I swear,” she said, waving her hand, and Yuuri almost broke his neck as he turned to look at her.

“Viktor? Like, Viktor Nikiforov?”

“Yeah?” Mila frowned slightly at him, seemingly confused. “Who else? He hasn’t shut up about you since the Grand Prix Finals.”

“The Grand Prix Finals?” Yuuri echoed faintly, cheeks burning in embarrassment. Viktor must have remembered him as the guy who failed epically then walked away from him.

Before Yuuri could spiral into full panic, Yuri shoved past them, walking out the door.

“C’mon,” Yuri said over his shoulder, like he was the one waiting for them.

Mila’s car was nice, but old. Probably a hand-me-down. Climbing into the back seat, Yuuri let Yuri have the front, deciding to do that was the best choice.

Remembering what Yuri had said about Mila’s driving, Yuuri waited with bated breath as she started the car.

Peeling out of the parking lot way too fast, Mila laughed as Yuri yelled, winking at Yuuri in the rear-view mirror. Ok, so, Yuri wasn’t kidding.

The drive wasn’t too long, thankfully, and when Mila finally pulled the keys out of the ignition, Yuuri opened the door woodenly, wobbling out of the car. When he was finally on solid ground, he almost wanted to kiss it, remembering how the car seemed to tip as Mila hit a curve at full-speed.

Unfazed, Mila hopped out of her car, grabbing her gear out of the back. “I’ll show you where to go.”

Yuri was already inside, not bothering to stick around, leaving Mila and Yuuri alone.

“So, Mila, you obviously skate,” Yuuri started awkwardly. “Do you skate singles or doubles? Or are you an ice dancer?”

“I skate singles and am ranked third in international ladies’ singles,” Mila answered, eyes bright.

“Seriously? That’s awesome! I can’t wait to skate with you.” Yuuri smiled warmly, trying to distract himself from the fact he’d have to be introduced to all of the new skaters and skate in front of them. It would be so much easier if he could just skate alone with his own separate practice time, but no, he had to be an adult.

“Thanks! I think you’re going to be great fun to skate with as well.” Mila opened the door for Yuuri, allowing him to walk in first. The blast of warmth was a nice difference from the bitter cold of the parking lot, and Yuuri rubbed his arms as he followed Mila further into the facility.

“Well,” Mila said, stopping outside of a closed door, “This is Yakov’s office. Catch you later, kay?”

Yuuri nodded, and she flounced off, humming to herself. She seemed nice, if not a little energetic.

Shuffling, Yuuri tried to build up the courage to knock on the door, eventually just doing it before he could stop himself.

“Come in,” Yakov called, the words a bit muffled. Yuuri opened the door slowly, poking his head in.

“Good morning.”

“Ah, Yuuri. Come sit down.” Yakov beckoned him forward, towards a plush chair facing his desk. “I take it your first night in Russia was okay?”

“Yep.” Yuuri cleared his throat. “Yuri was very kind.”

Yakov raised a brow. “You don’t have to lie. That boy, he’s a genius in skating but is lacking in a lot of other areas. I will admit I purposely chose to have you move in with him. It’s not right, a fifteen-year-old living alone like that. Hopefully, you can set a good example and help him grow.”

Yuuri didn't know what to say so he just settled for another nod, a single bob of his head.

“I should show you the rink,” Yakov said, standing. “I’m sure you’re excited to see it.”

*

The facilities were amazing. The rink, larger and nicer than the ones he’d used before, gleamed under the bright lights. There were benches and other types of seating wrapping around the ice, allowing for other people to be there and personal items to be strewn about.

The locker room was immaculate, the smell of lemon-scented cleaner floating through the air. Yuuri’s locker was spacious, with more than enough room for all of his things.

There were a few skaters out on the ice, all doing their own things, and Yuuri realized with a tinge of relief? disappointment? Viktor wasn’t one of them.

One of the skaters floated over to the edge of the rink, spotting Yakov.

“This is Georgi,” Yakov introduced, and the man straightened his back.

“Nice to meet you,” Yuuri said, giving him a small wave, a bit taken aback by the intense way he was being stared at.

“Do you believe in love?” Georgi asked suddenly, and Yuuri blinked. Yakov sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Yes?” Yuuri replied, stretching out the word. “Uh, do you?”

Georgi’s eyes filled with tears, and Yuuri knew he had made a mistake. “I used to,” Georgi began, “but now I’m not so sure. My Anya broke up with me, leaving me all alone!”

“Now, now,” A new voice said, a voice Yuuri’d recognize anywhere. A hand clapped down onto his shoulder. “Gosha, let’s not scare poor Yuuri too much, okay? It is his first day.”

Viktor Nikiforov was touching him. Viktor Nikiforov was standing next to him. Viktor Nikiforov-

was asking him a question.

“Hmm?” Yuuri managed. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Viktor smiled, pulling his sunglasses off with one hand. His other hand held an iced-coffee. In winter? Really? 

“I asked if you settled in with Yuri alright? He can be a bit snappy.” 

“Oh.” Yuuri awkwardly picked at a piece of lint on his sleeve. “I did, thank you.” 

Viktor was looking at him like he wanted something, so Yuuri introduced himself. 

“I’m Yuuri Katsuki. It’s, ah, nice to meet you.” 

Viktor’s smile faded slightly, before being replaced by a bigger, shinier version. Yuuri wondered if his smiles always looked that fake. 

“Oh, I know.” Viktor took a sip of his coffee, the ice clinking. Yuuri was vaguely aware he had a full audience. “But what do you mean ‘It’s nice to meet you’? Do you not remember meeting?” 

Yuuri wracked his brain, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Surely if he had met his idol he’d remember it. “Do you mean the picture thing? Don’t even worry about it,” he tried, and Viktor’s face changed completely, a crestfallen expression flashing across it. 

Yuuri was sure he was doing something wrong. What had he done to make Viktor’s face like that?

“Hmmm.” Viktor tapped his lips with his pointer finger, carefully neutral. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’ve got to get changed. So if you’ll excuse me.” 

“Holy hell,” Mila whispered. “What did you do to him?” 

Yuuri closed his eyes, pressing into them with the palms of his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Oh god-” 

It was just his luck to spiral into a breakdown on his first day, in front of everyone. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Yuuri said, bowing slightly. Walking quickly away, Yuuri looked for a place he could fall apart in private. Remembering there was a gender-neutral bathroom in the foyer, Yuuri headed for that, trying to keep his shaking in check. Thankfully it was empty. 

Locking the door behind him, Yuuri slid to the ground, all-too-aware of the germs that surrounded him. His breathing was harsh and loud in the silence of the room, tearing through his lungs jaggedly. 

Tears pricked his eyes. 

Pulling up Phichit’s contact info, Yuuri paused. Surely Phichit would be asleep. He didn’t want to wake him. 

Scrubbing at his eyes, Yuuri swallowed thickly, trying to remember the breathing exercises the Wayne State counselor had given him.

Was it in for four? Or eight?

Viktor’s expression flashed in front of his eyes. He looked devastated in that split second, absolutely heartbroken. And it was all Yuuri’s fault. Somehow. And he had to face him again, had to face everyone again, after all of this. 

Why did he think coming here was a good idea. Why did he do this? 

_ Because it’s your dream. Because this is everything you’ve been working for, and more, _ a tiny voice told him, sounding suspiciously like Phichit.

Taking it slow, Yuuri stood, looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, cheeks flushed and tear-stained. 

Rinsing his face in cold water, Yuuri let the coolness ground him. Pushing his hair back, he dried his face, putting his glasses back on. There. That was a little bit better. 

Opening the bathroom door slightly Yuuri looked around. Good. No one was there. Wiping his hands on his pants, Yuuri headed back toward the rink, keeping an eye out for Yakov. Potting him, thankfully alone, Yuuri made his way over.

“I apologize for earlier.” He had no idea how much time had passed. “Please continue on with the tour.” 

Yakov pinned him under his gaze. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“Mhm. I, uh, struggle with anxiety, so sometimes new situations can be a bit overwhelming. So yeah, that’s what happened. For the most part, I have tools to manage it, but competitions can be rough. I guess this is a little forewarning.” Yuuri tried for a smile. 

Yakov put a warm hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, his hard exterior softening slightly. “Well, kid, you’re not the first I’ve coached with anxiety, so I think we can make it work. Just let me know what I can do.” 

The response, as unexpected as it was, made Yuuri blink back tears, emotionally wrung out. 

“Thank you. Just- thanks.” 

“Of course. Now, how do you feel about getting on the ice?” 

*

Stepping onto the ice was easy. It felt like every other rink he’d skated at. It felt like coming home. 

“You have good form,” Yakov praised from the edge of the rink. “What do you think your strengths and weaknesses are? What do you want to focus on in particular?” 

Yuuri paused, taken aback. He’d never had anyone ask these questions, give him this freedom. Celestino usually just told him what to do. “I’m good at artistry,” he finally answered, doing lazy figures, “and step sequences. I’m not as good with jumps, so maybe we start there?” 

“Sounds good.” From the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw Yakov nod. “Do a jump.” 

“Now? Any?” 

“Take your pick,” Yakov instructed, and Yuuri built up a little bit of speed, launching himself smoothly into a double toe-loop, keeping it decently simple.

He landed well, not stepping out of it, and slowed to a stop, eyes on Yakov. 

“Good. How much of last season’s programs do you remember?” 

“All of them, pretty much,” Yuuri called out. It was hard to forget something that was muscle memory.

“You want to do one?”

“Sure. Which one?”

“Is free good?” Yakov asked, and Yuuri nodded, hoping he could see the motion. Yuuri wasn’t stupid, he knew why Yakov wanted him to do this performance. “Need music?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Skating to the center, Yuuri was glad Yakov had managed to shoo everyone else away from the rink. He was the only one on the ice, which allowed him to feel a bit more comfortable. Taking a moment to center himself, Yuuri began his program, moving across the ice.

Letting his mind wander slightly, Yuuri flew through the step sequences and jumps, having to touch down on one. It had been a few months since he had done this program after all.

And really, who was he kidding. Any performance he put on now would be a world away from his terrible one.

Dropping low into a spin, Yuuri wondered what there was for lunch.

As he finished up, settling into his final position, Yuuri held it for a moment, before standing back up, looking to Yakov for confirmation.

Yakov sighed, rubbing his chin “That was good. But, kid, I have to ask. What happened at nationals? Your performance was-”

Yuuri cut him off. “Terrible?” he asked with a wry smile. “Yeah. My dog died the night before, and there were a lot of little things, so that was like the straw that broke the camel's back.”

A gasp filtered through the air, catching both Yakov’s and Yuuri’s attention. Viktor, dressed in practice clothes, walked over to Yakov. Just how long had he been there?

“Your dog died? That’s terrible!”

“Vitya!” Yakov smacked Viktor on the back of his head, looking infinitely more crosser than he had before, but Yuuri could see the fondness behind the action. “We’re having practice time.”

“I know,” Viktor pouted. “But I thought as your favorite student I could be here too.”

Yakov snorted. “Favorite student. Right.”

Choosing to ignore Yakov, Viktor turned to Yuuri who was motionless on the ice, unsure of what was happening. Viktor seemed fine, looking at Yuuri like their earlier meeting hadn’t even happened.

“What kind of dog was it?” Viktor pressed, and Yuuri decided to skate closer, feeling like shouting across the ice was worse than having a normal conversation.

“He was a miniature poodle,” Yuuri said, stopping at the edge of the rink, where his water bottle was.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said, seemingly sincere. “That must have been rough.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri, to avoid having to say anything else, uncapped his water bottle, taking a few sips.

“Anyway.” Viktor eventually changed the subject once it became clear he wasn’t going to say more. “It’s nice to properly meet you. I’m Viktor Nikiforov.” Flashing one of his blinding smiles, Viktor stuck out his hand.

Yuuri took it, hoping his hands weren’t too clammy. Of course Viktor had super soft, well-cared-for hands.

“Vitya,” Yakvo barked. “Now that you’ve seen him, can you let him practice? You know, do what he came here to do?”

Viktor laughed, stepping back. “Of course, of course. I look forward to getting to know you better,  _ Yuu-ri _ ~” With that, Viktor disappeared out the door Yuuri thought led to the locker rooms, a bounce in his step.

Forcing back a shover at the way Viktor had said his name, Yuuri turned to Yakov, who sighed.

“That boy.” Yakov shook his head. “Please be kind to him. As much as he irritates me, I care about him.”

Taken aback, Yuuri nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be kind? I know I idolize him and all, but I remember he’s a real person with real feelings. Viktor, he seems…” Yuuri paused, searching for the right words. “different from how he portrays himself. I want to get to know the real him.”

Yakov crossed his arms. “Good. I think Vitya needs someone like you. Now, back to work.”

*

The days passed. Yuuri began to get a little more comfortable around everyone, quickly forming a friendship with Mila and Georgi. Yuri was still prickly, but Yuuri liked to believe it was getting better.

Viktor, well, was Viktor. Completely different from what Yuuri had expected, yet at the same time exactly that. They hadn’t had much time to get to know each other deeper, something Yuuri was inwardly crying at. It was almost like he was avoiding him, but Yuuri couldn’t imagine why.

It probably had to do with that odd first meeting, which played in his head non-stop like a movie.

“Are you sure you've never met him before?” Phichit asked, face filling Yuuri’s phone screen.

“I’m sure,” Yuuri sighed. “But why would he have acted like I had? It doesn’t make sense!”

His growing agitation caused forget-me-nots to sprout, their blue petals mocking him. Yuuri shoved them in his pocket.

“I mean, he is a genius,” Phichit said, typing rapidly on his laptop. “Aren’t they allowed their eccentricities or something?”

“I guess,” Yuuri said doubtfully. “He’s just acting weird around me and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Phichit, hearing the creeping notes of anxiety in Yuuri’s voice, tore his eyes away from his computer. “Yuuri. Have you done anything to make him act like this that you know of? Can you think of anything you said to make him act all weird? Be honest.”

“No,” Yuuri admitted.

“Then it’s his problem, not yours,” Phichit said simply, and Yuuri repeated the words in his head. That did make him feel a bit better.

“Thanks. Now, how are the things around the rink without me?”

The two talked easily for nearly an hour more, before Phichit started yawning, the late hours catching up to him. For Yuuri, it was the afternoon, but he knew it was nighttime in Detroit.

“You should go to bed,” Yuuri gently wrapped up the call.

“You’re probably right. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Yuuri replied, watching Phichit blow him a kiss then end the call, using his powers to do it automatically.

Shifting, Yuuri stretched his back, wondering how Yuri tolerated the chairs at the table. they were stiff and uncomfortable, usually leaving him sore.

“Who were you on the phone with?”

Yuuri jumped, letting out a curse. What was Viktor doing in his and Yuri’s apartment, and more importantly, how long had he been there? Long enough to hear Yuuri talking about him?

“Jesus, you scared me.” Twisting around in his seat, Yuuri made eye-contact with Viktor, who was standing in the doorway of the dining room.

“Sorry.” Viktor gave him an apologetic smile, leaving Yuuri momentarily breathless. “Who was that? Family? A friend? A lover?”

“No, no,” Yuuri hastily cut him off. “Not a lover. Just my best friend from back in Detroit.”

Was that relief he saw on Viktor’s face? No, surely just wishful thinking.

“Tell me about them,” Viktor prompted, pulling out a chair.

“His name is Phichit, and he’s also a skater. We went to college together and have known each other for over half of a decade,” Yuuri looked down at his hands. “he’s been there for me for some of the biggest moments in my life.”

Viktor didn’t reply, making Yuuri look up. There was still a cool smile on Viktor’s face, but he seemed a little… sad.

“Anyway, what’re you doing here?” Yuuri asked, and Viktor shook himself.

“I came over to see Yurio, but he took one look at me and stomped off to his room.” The nickname Yurio was given to Yuri after Mila proclaimed they needed a way to differentiate between the two of them, much to Yuri’s dismay. “We so rarely have a day off, so when we do, I don’t know what to do with myself,” Viktor admitted, and Yuuri nodded. He knew the feeling.

“Do you, maybe, want to do something with me,” he offered tentatively. The change in Viktor’s persona was almost comedic, the sudden heart-shaped smile finally reaching Viktor’s eyes.

Viktor smiled more than anyone Yuuri knew, but as far as he could tell, most of them were fake. It was a little sad, especially since he seemed to be the only one to notice.

“Sure! Like what?”

“I’m still not too familiar with St. Petersburg, so maybe you pick?” Yuuri closed his laptop, glad he had a tab open so Viktor didn’t see his background, which was one of the photos taken after the Junior World Championships where Viktor was wearing a blue flower crown.

He hadn't gotten around to changing it yet, okay?

“Why don’t we go sightseeing?” Viktor asked, clapping his hands excitedly. “I can show you all the cool spots around town!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Yuuri agreed. “Let me get ready.”

Leaving Viktor at the table, Yuuri hurried to his room, dumpling his stuff on his bed and grabbing his coat and shoes. Though the weather was marginally getting warmer, it was still fairly cold.

Knocking on Yuri’s door, Yuuri waited for a moment before telling Yuri of his plans. “Yuri, Viktor and I are going to go out for a bit. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

No response, but he figured the teen heard him.

“Alright, I’m ready,” Yuuri told Viktor, who stood. “Lead the way.”

Viktor’s car was nice. Definitely expensive. The inside was nice too, though Yuuri noticed the dog hair in the back seat, undoubtedly from Makkachin. The idea of Makkachin’s head poking out of the window, tongue out, made Yuuri smile.

“Do you have anything specific you want to see, or are you just along for the ride?” Viktor asked, pulling out to the parking lot, a thousand times smoother than Mila had. He put his arm on the back of Yuuri’s headrest, giving Yuuri a nice whiff of his cologne, a smooth and deep scent. Yuuri tried his best not to swoon.

“Just along for the ride,” Yuuri answered once his head stopped swimming from the delicious smell. “Like I said, I kind of don’t know where anything is.”

“That’ll be fixed by the end of today,” Viktor promised. His hand hovered over the center console. “You okay with music?”

“Go ahead. I’m not too picky, so anything is fine.”

To Yuuri’s surprise, and Viktor’s chagrin, bubble gum pop blasted out of the speakers. Viktor turned it down immediately, ears red.

“Is this Carly Rae Jepson?” Yuuri asked slowly, the familiar tune of ‘Call Me Maybe’ floating through the car.

“Yes! Yes, it is!” Viktor shot Yuuri a look, eyes wide. “Do you not like it? I can change it!”

Yuuri stifled a laugh. “No, I love her. Just surprised, is all.” Back in Detroit, Phichit had made a real effort to familiarize them with classic American music, including the early 2000s and 2010s pop. It was a culture shock for sure.

(“But Phichit, isn’t she Canadian?”

“Hush, Yuuri, and just enjoy it!”)

“What? I can’t like Carly Rae Jepson?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri was 99% sure he was teasing him. “I’m a man of taste, Yuuri! And taste starts with  _ Kiss, _ her 2012 album!”

“I agree.” Yuuri held his hands up in a show of innocence. “What are your thoughts on Britney Spears?”

Never in a million years had Yuuri thought he’d be sitting in Viktor Niviforov’s car, let alone sitting there and discussing the merits of ‘Toxic’ vs ‘Circus’, but you know, life is funny like that.

“How does window shopping downtown sound?’ Viktor brushed some of his hair back, an action that had been televised a hundred times.

“Good. I think it’ll be fun.”

Viktor needed no more prompting, parallel parking between two cars. Yuuri climbed out of the car, looking around. Most of the snow had melted on the sidewalks, which were decently busy, hosting all sorts of people. The small shops and cafes that lined the road were quaint, most of the buildings looking old and antique.

“Which way do you want to go?” Viktor asked, wrapping his tan coat around himself tighter.

Not knowing the difference, Yuuri pointed left, hoping he wouldn’t be missing anything too cool that was the other way.

“Good choice!” Viktor complimented, sending him another pretty smile. Yuuri’s cheeks heated, and he ducked his head.

They began walking, Viktor describing and explaining everything they passed. Yuuri listened, obviously, but also thought about Viktor. He was beautiful, more so in person than online, and kind, warmth excluding from every action. He was genuine and smart, but covered it somewhat, appearing to play the role of the figure skating world’s darling, happy to put on a shiny smile and babble on about his dog.

But more than that, Viktor seemed a little lonely. Even at the rink, there was a dissonance between him and the other skaters, this air of untouchableness about him. It was like he desperately wanted to connect with them but wasn’t quite sure how even for all of his earnest tries.

The other skaters in the inner circle, mainly Georgi, Mila, Yuri, and now him, Yuuri supposed, welcomed him with open arms, but it seemed Viktor still felt awkward or something, often dismissing offers to hang out or practice together.

It was probably hard being on the top like that. If it were Yuuri up there, he’d worry people were using him and didn’t actually like him, something Viktor probably felt too.

“ _ Yuu-ri~, _ ” Viktor said in that special way of his, catching Yuuri’s attention. “Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m sorry, I got distracted,” Yuuri apologized. “Please, go on.”

They continued walking, and Yuuri saw some sort of flower stall up ahead of them, the smell of flowers sweet in the air. Compelled to stop, Yuuri picked out a red rose, handing money to the nice-looking seller.

Subtly sprucing up the flower, Yuuri tucked it behind Viktor’s ear, half wondering what the hell he was doing. “For you,” he said.

Viktor’s face of surprised delight was more than worth putting himself out there. “For me?” Viktor echoed, lightly touching the rose. “Be careful Yuuri, or people will get the wrong idea~”

“No,” Yuuri stuttered. “I didn't mean to. I mean, I’m sorry-”

Viktor cut him off “I’m just teasing, silly! But,” he turned serious, the switch jarring. “What do you want me to be to you?”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Yuuri realized they were still standing in front of the flower stand and pulled Viktor forward.

“Do you want me to be like a brother? A father figure? Your friend?” Viktor paused. “Your boyfriend?”

Waving his hands, Yuuri tried to regain control of the situation. “No!” he yelped. “I just want you to be you, Viktor!”

“Be me?” Viktor’s words were uncharacteristically soft, and Yuuri knew if he didn’t reassure this man right here and now then his life would be for nothing.

“Well, yeah! I just want you for you, Viktor. You don't need to put yourself in one box or another because you think that’s what I expect from you. I mean, yeah, I’d like to be friends with you, but not if it means I don’t get the real you.” Stumbling over his words, Yuuri tried to explain his feelings.

Viktor suddenly threw an arm around Yuuri, drawing him into a tight hug. Surprised, Yuuri froze, glad there was no one directly behind them on the sidewalk. “You mean that? Really?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri made himself move, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“Of course. I’ve… admired you for a long time and am just really glad to be here with you, you know?”

If possible, Viktor’s arms squeezed even tighter, and Yuuri let himself relax into the embrace.

*

“So, Yuuri, we need to start thinking about programs- music, theme, all of it.” Yakov flipped through the papers he held. “Any ideas?” 

“Well,” Yuuri hesitated, playing with his fingers. “I don’t have very much thought out, but I want my theme to be ‘Growth.’” Phichit had cracked up when Yuuri had suggested, and Yuuri had to admit, it was a little funny. 

“Expand on that,” Yakov directed. 

“I want a good comeback from last year's nationals, first of all, so I want a theme that reflects that. I was toying around with the theme of ‘Change’ but figured that was included in the idea of growth. This season I’d like to show everyone how far I’ve come, how much I’ve evolved. I feel like I’m finally at a place where I can feel proud of my accomplishments and show them off.” Yuuri had been thinking about this for a few weeks now, trying to identify what growth meant to him and how he could show it to the world. 

“I like the idea, I do, kid, but I don’t see it challenging you much as a skater. Your themes always seem safe and sort of, well, boring. Like the idea of the perfect theme or something.” Yakov didn’t mince words. 

But, somewhat expecting that response, Yuuri had an answer. “That’s why I really want to focus on my programs. I want them to be the best and way better than my old ones. More difficult, too. With these harder, faster, better programs is how I want to display my growth.”

Yakov tapped his chin, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by Yuri bursting through the office door. Steam was rolling off him in waves, and he was soaking wet. 

“What’s going on?” Yakov asked, jumping up. “Are you hurt?” 

“No, Coach,” Yuri answered. “I manifested.” 

Yakov blanched. 

“I was about to get on the ice when Viktor said something stupid, and next thing I knew I was on fire, but it didn’t hurt. It started to burn my clothes when Mila reacted, dumping that giant water bottle of hers onto me.” Yuri’s eyes were wide, though Yuuri didn’t know if it was in fear or astonishment. 

Pinching his nose, Yakov sighed deeply. “So you're an elemental, huh? Fire. I should have expected it. What are we going to do with you? You can’t go onto the ice until you learn to control it.” 

“But Yakov!” Yuri protested violently, “It’s my senior debut! I have to be on the ice!” 

“It’s impossible,” Yakov decided, shaking his head. “It’s dangerous, not just for yourself and others, but also for the world around you. What if you were to melt the ice?” 

“That would never happen!” As if to disprove him, flames started dancing through Yuri’s hair. He only noticed them when Yakov looked pointedly towards his head. 

“I can’t, Yura. I’m sorry. I know how much this season meant to you, but I can’t risk it. You need to learn to control your gift, first.” 

“But how am I supposed to do that,” Yuri asked, a little brokenly, and before he could stop himself, Yuuri opened his big, fat mouth.

*

“You have fucking powers and you didn’t think to tell anyone?” Yuri gaped, perched on the counter in their kitchen. 

“Language,” Yuuri chided without thinking, focusing on the tonkatsu. He had finally been able to find a decent Aisian market, and immediately gathered the ingredients for Katsudon, knowing he deserved some for all of his hard work. Sure, he hadn’t won a competition, but he had offered to help Yuri, which was almost more daunting. “People know about it. Just, no one in Russia until now.” 

“I’m surprised Yakov didn’t yell at you. He definitely likes you best. It’s unfair.” 

“Well,” Yuuri said mildly, “maybe it’s because I’m the only one who actually listens to him.” 

Yuri scowled. “Show me. Show me your powers.” 

“They’re not that impressive.” Yuuri allowed a small spider plant to grow, the green leaves unfurling in a burst of color. Yuri watched it suspiciously, leaning towards Yuuri’s hand to look closer.

“What are you talking about? That’s awesome.” Crossing his arms with a huff, Yuri watched Yuuri place the plant in a small vase of water. “Have you, like, tried to grow a tree? What’s the biggest thing you can grow? Have you ever made poisonous plants?”

Checking on the rice, Yuuri hummed. “I don’t really know. I’ve never tried to grow anything huge before.” Some people constantly got the urge to test the limits of their power, going all out with big displays of talent, but Yuuri never really felt that urge. He was content with smaller plants and had no real reason to grow a tree. And anyway, that seemed really tiresome. 

“Lame.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “So what’re you making?” 

“It’s called katsudon. It’s my favorite dish,” Yuuri answered. ”My mom used to make it for me after I got gold at a competition. It’s been a while since I’ve had it so I decided to make it. Want to help?” 

“No,” Yuri snorted. A month ago Yuuri would have been taken aback by the attitude but now he expected it, the response prompting a small smile. “Hey!” Yuri barked. “What’re you smiling at, Katsudon?” 

“Is that my new nickname?” Yuuri asked slowly, and Yuri nodded resolutely. 

“Yeah. And, since I call you by one, it’s only fair you have one for me too. Like, Yura or something.” 

Surprised, Yuuri turned to look at Yuri, who wasn’t looking at him, cheeks pink. He knew of diminutives and how personal they were, especially to Yuri wh only let Yakov and his grandfather call him Yura.

“Alright, Yura.” Deciding not to make it a big deal, he accepted it casually. “Can you grab the bowls from the cupboard?” 

Doing the last finishing touches, Yuuri plated the katsudon, carrying them to the table. Yuri followed with silverware and paper napkins. It was on Yuuri’s list to get cloth ones. 

Watching closely as Yuri took his first bite, Yuuri waited for a reaction. 

“It’s good,” Yuri said, swallowing. He proceeded to shovel more into his mouth, so Yuuri figured he was telling the truth. Digging into his own serving, Yuuri sighed appreciatively. It  _ was _ good. Maybe not as good as his mom’s, but he doubted he could ever make it like she did. 

Taking a quick picture of the meal, he sent it to Mari with no caption. It’d be enough to spark a conversation when she was awake. 

“How do you feel about your power?’ Yuuri asked. “It must have been a bit scary, just lighting up like that.”

“No,” Yuri denied. “I wasn’t scared. I just want to be able to get back on the ice.” 

“You’ll be able to soon, I promise. I’ll try to help you the best I can, but what worked for me might not work for you in terms of control, so we may have to try a few things before we find you the right outlet.” 

“What did you do?” Yuri stabbed the pork viciously. 

“Meditation worked well for me.” As expected, Yuri’s face screwed up. 

“Meditation? That’s boring!” 

“Just try it, at least. You won’t know if it works until you do. I also danced though.” Whenever he got that itch under his skin he’d head to Minako’s, or, when he was in Detroit, the music hall to let out some steam. 

“You dance?” 

“I was actually a ballerina before I switched to skating,” Yuuri admitted, remembering his younger days. “I only moved to the ice after I saw Viktor skate.” 

“Ew,” Yuri commented, and Yuuri laughed. 

“Real talk, why are you so upset about not being able to skate? It seems like a little more than maybe having to push your senior debut back.” 

Yuri shifted, poking at his food.”Well, this year Viktor was supposed to choreograph a program for me.” Scowling, Yuri looked up. “But it doesn’t even matter because I’m pretty sure he forgot.” 

“I see.” Yuuri bit his lip. “A program from the living legend himself. That’s a big deal, huh?” 

“It’s whatever,” Yuri grunted. “I don’t even care.”

The clear dismissal of the topic was something Yuuri respected so he dropped it, though he was already making plans to talk to Viktor because Yuri obviously did care.

*

_ phi: so you mean to tell me you’re training the kid to deal with his powers?? Lmaoooo _

_ yuuri: yeah idek  _

_ yuuri: it’s going really well, though. he’s allowed back on the ice now _

_ phi: did meditation work _

_ yuuri: somewhat? Idk i eventually found a place where you can go and just destroy shit for an hour and that seemed to work a lot better _

_ phi: as expected from an angry kid with fire powers _

_ yuuri: yeah i shouldve seen that one coming ngl _

_ yuuri: how’re your programs coming along?  _

_ phi: really well! this might be the year i beat you *winking emoji* _

_ yuuri: someone’s getting cocky _

_ yuuri: we’ll see if you can put your money where your mouth is _

_ phi: competitive yuuri is my favorite !!  _

_ phi: hbu? _

_ yuuri: p well actually. i’m having mme baranovskaya help me with the last of the choreography and have already gotten pretty good with my short since i’m basically done editing that _

_ phi: only you would throw out the fact a prima ballerina is helping you choreograph. for free _

_ yuuri: she offered! was i supposed to say no?  _

_ phi: lol probably not _

_ phi: you better get on it. competitions start in a few months _

_ yuuri: ik. i’ll be ready _

Setting his phone down on the rink wall, Yuuri waits for his program music, which he has set on loop, to re-start. The song was an American song, verging on indie-pop. Skaters tended to go with choral or instrumental music, though not as much recently, and Yuuri wanted to do something different, and choosing a song like this would surely grab the viewers’ attention, especially paired with his program.

While the song itself was talking about a specific person and moving on from them Yuuri was choosing to interpret the message as something bigger, more all-encompassing. To him, it was about moving on from his past, specifically from his failed performance. It was about picking himself up and continuing, better than he was before. 

It was exactly what he was looking for. 

The music looped and Yuuri was off, letting his skates carry him around the rink. The choreography was a million times better than he could have expected, thanks to the madame’s help. She had visited the rink once while Yuuri was just beginning to put things together and had taken him in, offering her help and tutelage. 

Yuri, too, was getting ballet practice from her, something he was against. Once he had seen Yuuri throw himself into practice with her he had started to work harder, claiming ‘he wouldn’t be beaten’. It was kind of funny how motivated by spite he was. 

No one had seen his full program yet besides himself, Yakov, and Mme Baranovskaya. On some level that was intentional, but most of the time it was non purposeful, what with shared practices devoted to improving specific things. But now, now that he had the rink to himself, he could run through it fully, working on fixing all of the rough edges and smoothing it out. 

Most of his jumps were backloaded, with the first half focused more on storytelling and artistry. That was usually seen as cheap, but the Madame had assured him it would come off as more impressive than anything, as long as he managed to portray it classily.

They placed most of his spins in the first half. Yuuri worked on spinning impossibly fast and bending impossibly low, the ballet helping with that. His step sequences took him across the ice, feet moving swiftly and cleanly. 

The transition into the second half had him immediately jumping into a triple salchow, followed by a combination that included a quad toe-loop and a double axel. Yuuri and Yuri had been trading skills, jumps for step sequences, and Yuuri now felt pretty comfortable landing a quad salchow so he did just that, spinning through the air quickly.

The music drifted into its ending verse, the notes fading, and Yuuri threw himself into the last jump, a triple flip, wishing he could make his body finish just one more rotation. 

_ I’ll get it eventually, _ he promised himself, skating back to the wall, chest heaving. Turning the music on his phone off, Yuuri found his mind back on Viktor, where it usually was. Earlier that week he had reminded him of his promise the choreograph Yuri’s programs, something Viktor had definitely forgotten. It was a little late in the season, but if anyone could get a program made and done well that fast it was Viktor and Yuri. 

Viktor had stared at him for a moment, panicked. “I promised him that?’ 

“Yes?” Yuuri said slowly. “Or he said you did. And why would he lie?” 

“You’re right.” Viktor sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I should get on that. It wouldn’t be fair of me to not when he’s counting on my help.” 

Say what you want about Viktor, but he was an honorable man. 

Putting his skate guards on, Yuuri walked over to the bench. Yakov had given him a master key to the rink, something Yuuri was grateful for. He got these urges to skate and lose himself on the ice, an itch that couldn’t be soothed unless he actually did go to the rink and skate for a while. 

He could use it whenever he wanted, Yakov had said, but he had to tell someone and check in with them regularly to ensure he was alive and hadn’t cracked his head on the ice or something. So he told Yuri, who just made him do 15-minute check-ins, which was cute. 

_ yuuri: heading back home. walking.  _

_ yura: k. we need milk  _

_ yuuri: i’ll get some _

Placing his skates in his bag, Yuuri decided he didn’t want to carry them this late and headed to the locker room, placing them in his locker and locking it. One could never be too careful. 

Locking everything up behind him and making sure all lights were off, Yuuri stepped outside, breathing in the spring air. The smell of rain permeated everything, fresh and sweet, and it made Yuuri feel happy. Alive. Spring had always been his favorite season, and now that it was here in Russia it put an extra spring in his step. 

Smiling, Yuuri walked along the sidewalk, enjoying Russia’s night ambiance. The rink and his and Yuri’s apartment weren’t in a super populated part of the city, meaning Yuuri’s walk home was primarily devoid of other people. Sure, he passes the occasional group heading to or from the bar, but mostly, he was alone, allowed to just be. 

Stopping at the corner store he passed every time he went to or from the rink, Yuuri picked out a gallon of milk and, after a glance at the checkout counter, a pack of gum. The cashier rang him up quietly, and he was out the door a moment later, milk jug swinging in his hand. 

The park was on his way back so Yuuri decided to cut through it, brushing his hands along every tree he passed, perking up their newly formed buds. The grass where he walked was slightly greener, healthier, but you couldn’t tell unless you knew what to look for. 

It felt good to let out some power. 

Crossing the street, he let himself into the apartment building with a yawn. He had needed that extra practice.

*

“So what do you want your free program music to sound like?” The composer, Irina, looked up from her ipad, stylus posed to jot down notes. 

“Well,” Yuuri started, imagining the music in his head.

*

Taking to the ice, Yuuri resisted the urge to wipe his sweaty hands on his costume. Every eye was on him, waiting to see Yakov’s new student redeem himself. Stopping in the middle of the rink, Yuuri exhaled, willing away all of the nerves he felt. He wanted this to go well. Needed it to go well. 

Making eye contact with Yuri, who had tried to threaten him into doing well, then Viktor, who gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up, no doubt something the camera picked up on, Yuuri gave them a tiny smile, reassuring both them and himself. 

Yuri had been granted permission to skate this season, thankfully, and had gotten his program from Viktor. Speaking of Viktor, Yuuri was glad he wasn’t in this competition. He didn’t know if he could have performed knowing Viktor would be going too. He needed this chance to get gold. 

Phichit, who jumped and waved from his spot by the rink, had already gone and done beautifully. He had definitely been working hard and Yuuri was so, so proud of him. 

The opening strains of his music echoed throughout the arena, and Yuuri tuned out the noises of surprise from the audience, pushing himself into motion. 

This competition was so important. He had to do well. 

Throwing himself into the program, Yuuri kept every movement precise, giving off an unaffected vibe. As the song picked up, so did Yuuri, vigorously pushing himself into the second half. Jump after jump went by, and Yuuri smiled, pride flowing through him as he didn’t step out or touch down on any of them.

Locking eyes with Viktor as he stood from his final position, Yuuri’s ears rang from the sound of cheers and applause. Gifts and flowers cascaded down, and Yuuri stopped to pick up a stuffed frog, waving at the audience. 

“You did well,” Yakov said, handing Yuuri his skate guards. 

‘Thank you,” Yuuri said, breathless, walking with him to the kiss-and-cry. When his scores were revealed, Yuuri could only gape. A new personal best, by almost twenty-five points. 101.14. His name rose to the top of the scoreboard.

“I’m proud,” Yakov said gruffly, and Yuuri’s eyes filled with tears as Phichit bowled into him, wrapping him in a tight hug. 

“I…” Yuuri couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. 

Phichit pulled him from the kiss-and-cry, still hugging him. Aware of the cameras pinned on him, Yuuri buried his face into Phichit’s neck, shoulders shaking. He had done it. 

“You are so amazing,” Phichit whispered to him, pulling back slightly to look into Yuuri’s eyes. “I am so proud.” 

“Phichit-kun,” Yuuri said helplessly. “I can’t believe it.” 

“Well, you better believe it,” Phichit warned, whipping out his phone. “Because it’s about to be immortalized on my Instagram. Smile!” 

“No,” Yuuri groaned playfully. “I’m all sweaty and stuff!” 

“You’re beautiful,” Phichit ruthlessly complimented, snapping a flurry of pictures. “Isn’t that right, Viktor?” 

Remembering he was in a crowded arena and not just with Phichit, Yuuri jerked back, smiling ruefully as he surveyed the people standing in front of him. 

“Of course!” Viktor brightly declared, and it took a second to register that he had just called Yuuri beautiful. As expected, his face flamed, making Phichit snicker. “Good job, Yuuri! Your program was breathtaking!” 

“Don’t get too comfortable in first,” Yuri pushed in front of Viktor. “I’ll be taking it from you when it really matters.” 

Knowing that was his way of congratulating him, Yuuri laughed. “Of course, Yura. I’ll be waiting. I won't go down without a fight.” 

“It was good,” Mme Baranovskaya sniffed. “But it will be better.” 

“Thank you, Madame.” Yuuri bowed his head. “I’m counting on it.” 

The next skater’s program caught Yuuri’s attention, and he watched it for a moment, vaguely recognizing the person to be someone he skated with while in Juniors.  _ His name was Christophe, right?  _

Yuuri walked alongside the rink, following Yakov back to their spot. Phichit linked arms with him but focused most of his attention on Viktor, who looked like he didn’t know what to think of him. When there was a moment of silence, Yuuri cut in, complimenting Phichit’s performance. 

“Awww, thanks!” Phichit grinned. “I worked hard on it.” 

“I could tell,” Yuuri said honestly. “It was amazing.” 

“100% inspired by you, baby!” Phichit winked, pressing a quick kiss onto Yuuri’s cheek. Familiar with his best friend’s way of playfully flirting, Yuuri just laughed, swatting him away. There’d probably be a million tabloids speculating on his and Phichit’s relationship, but still riding the high from his short program, Yuuri didn’t care.

“I thought you guys weren't together,” Viktor teased, but there was an edge to his voice. He was on the other side of Phichit so Yuuri couldn’t see his facial expression but he wondered what it looked like. 

“I wish,” Phichit cried dramatically. “But alas, Yuuri’s heart belongs to someone else!” 

“Phichit!” Yuuri hissed. 

“Oh?” Viktor asked. “It does?” 

“No, Phichit’s just messing around,” Yuuri grit out, elbowing the skater in question. 

“Is he?” 

“Well,” Phichit hummed. “A bit. It’s more of a childhood infatuation that I tease him about. He had a pretty intense celebrity crush when he was younger.” 

“What?” Viktor peered around Phichit to look at Yuuri, who was positively glaring at Phichit. “I thought I was the only celebrity Yuuri looked up to! I’ve been betrayed!”

Phichit, giving Yuuri a look that said  _ is he serious right now? _ just laughed, denying any further questions. 

Once the last skater got scored they were free to go. Yuuri’s name maintained its position at the top of the leaderboard, with Phichit claiming the third spot. In between them was Christophe, who was uncomfortably close to Yuuri in terms of score.

Yuuri was exhausted, ready to go back to his hotel room, which he didn’t have to share. Yuri and Viktor weren’t given rooms in the same hotel as him, due to the fact that they were technically there as viewers, not skaters. Yakov was in the room next to him, connected to Yuuri by a door in between their rooms.

Phichit was a few suites down, but thankfully on the same floor. 

While walking to his room, Yuuri ran into Celestino. “Yuuri!” he boomed, going in for a hug. “Phenomenal performance!” 

“Thanks, Ciao Ciao.” Yuuri’s said, his face shoved into Yakov’s coat. 

“You’ve grown a lot as a skater. It’s almost scary.” Celestino pulled back, ponytail swinging. “You’re quite the little monster.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing, nothing.” Celestino waved him off jovially. “How’s the, ah, anxiety treating you? I was a bit worried but you seem to be handling it well.” 

“It’s doing okay,” Yuuri answered honestly. “Yakov has had skaters with it before and has helped a lot. I’ve also been in a pretty good headspace lately so that’s helped.” 

“Good.” Celestino clapped him on the back. “Well, I’m sure you want to shower. I’ll let you go now. Don’t be a stranger, though,’ he warned and Yuuri smiled. 

“I won’t.” heading up to his room, Yuuri sighed in relief. He had managed to avoid all of the media. 

Flinging himself onto his bed, Yuuri sighed, realizing he was still in his costume, which needed to be dry cleaned if the smell of his sweat was anything to go by. 

He was pretty physically and emotionally wrung out after his performance but knew most of the skaters got together with each other, some heading to bars or clubs, the others hanging in hotel lounges. Yuuri himself had never been super social, but with Viktor, Yuri, and not to mention Phichit all there, he knew he was going to be expected to be out and about. 

And really, he couldn’t say he minded. 

Shucking his costume and hanging it in the closet, Yuuri grabbed some decent-looking clothes from his bag, knowing Phichit was just going to dress him later anyway. 

The water felt like heaven on his tired muscles. 

Lingering under the spray Yuuri occupied himself by examining the tiny shampoo bottles and messing with the water pressure. Once he no longer could rationale being in there, he stepped out, steam curling humidly around him. 

The towels were soft, of course, and Yuuri let himself use one for his hair and one for his body, putting off getting dressed for a little longer. 

Pulling on his pants in the bathroom (more a force of habit than anything), Yuuri stepped out of the bathroom, jumping when he saw someone in the room. 

“Phichit-kun, don’t scare me like that!” he admonished, trying to calm his beating heart. “How did you even get in here?” 

Phichit grinned from where he was perched on Yuuri’s bed, legs kicked out carelessly. “Hotel staff is very accommodating?” 

Striding over to flick Phichit in the forehead, Yuuri let himself be pulled onto the bed. 

“You’re lucky I’m wearing pants,” Yuuri grumbled, looking up sharply when he heard a camera shutter. “Did you just take a picture of me?” 

“It's not like I’ve never seen the goods before.” Phichit shrugged, typing something on his phone. “And no, I didn’t take a picture of you. Why would you think that? And-” he tapped once more, finalizing whatever he was doing. “-posted!” 

“Did you just post a shirtless picture of me?” 

“What, like it’s the first one?” Phichit’s phone pinged. “Ooh~ Viktor Vikiforov commented!” 

“Wait, what?” Yuuri scrambled for the phone. “What did he say?” 

Holding the phone as far away from Yuuri as he could, Phichit read off the comment. “Vkusno? What does that mean? And he added a winky face.” 

Yuuri flushed a deep, deep red, something Phichit centered on. “You know what it means!” he accused. “What is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” 

“It means delicious in Russian,” Yuuri mumbled, and Phichit squealed, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“It does, does it? And a winky face? Yuuri, you didn't tell me things were like  _ that _ .” 

“They’re not!” Yuuri covered his face with his hands, whining. “Shut up!” 

“Fine.” Phichit sighed dramatically. “We’re going out tonight, and no getting out of it! That’s what I’m here for.” 

“Do I have to?” 

“Duh,” Phichit said affectionately. “You’re in the first place. You gotta act the part.” 

“I’m pretty sure me acting the part would be me acting professionally.” 

Phichit waved him off. “Don’t be boring. Plus Viktor’s coming.”

“I guess I’ll go, then,” he said transparently, and Phichit cackled like Yuuri knew he would. 

“Good. Now, c’mon, to my room. We got to get dressed.” 

*

“Wow,” Viktor breathed as Yuuri pulled out a seat next to him. “Who are you and what have you done with Yuuri?” 

“Doesn’t he look great?” Phichit asked proudly. “All my handiwork, too.”

“These jeans are a little tight,” Yuuri managed, fighting the urge to unbutton the button so he could sit more comfortably.

“That’s the point,” Phichit said. “They’re skinny jeans. Well, on me they are. On you they’re like a second skin, but only because you have a great ass.” 

Yuri gagged, reminding everyone he was sitting at the table too. 

“What!?” Yuuri gasped, blush flaring. 

“Oh hush, we all know you have the best butt.” Phichit slid into the seat on the other side of Yuuri, nudging him in the side. 

“I,” a new voice said, and Yuuri yelped as he felt someone pinched his butt, “can attest to that.”

“Chris!” Viktor grinned, and for a brief moment, Yuuri felt a flash of white-hot jealousy could in his gut at the bright way Viktor greeted him. “Come sit down!” 

“Of course.” Settling across from Yuuri, Christophe Giacometti flashed them all a salacious smile. Yuri visibly scooted away from him. 

“Hi,” Phichit introduced himself enthusiastically. “Phichit Chulanant, nice to meet you!”

Chris leveled Phichit with an appraising look. “Christophe Giacometti, but call me Chris. All of my friends do, after all.”

Ever adaptable, Phichit grinned. “Chris, then. Amazing performance, by the way.”

Still reeling from the fact Christophe grabbed his ass, Yuuri focused on shoving food into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to talk. The others were trading compliments, minus Yuri, who was scowling at the table, picking at his food.

“Yura, want any?” Yuuri asked, pointing at his dish. “It’s really good.” 

Accepting the offer, Yuru leaned over the table, speaking a few pieces of meat with his fork. 

“Looks like someone managed to tame Russia’s Ice Fairy,” Christophe hummed, and Yuri’s gaze snapped up, glaring at him. 

“Careful, Chris,” Viktor warned idly. “He’s become quite proficient with his fire. Don’t want your hair going up in flames now, do you?” 

“Oh, the rumored fire talent.” Christophe took a long drink of… whatever he was drinking. Yuuri supposed it was something alcoholic. “It’s unheard of that someone presents with a power that, well, powerful and learns to control it in the same season. Tell me, how did you do it?” 

The way Christophe’s gaze flickered over to Yuuri wasn’t his imagination, now, was it? 

“Destroyed a bunch of shit,” Yuri avoided looking at Yuuri, keeping his eyes on Christophe. “And I suppose I could just be that talented.” 

“Of course, of course,” Christophe soothed. “I’m getting more drinks, anyone want anything? Phichit I take it you’re old enough to drink here, and Yuri I take it you’re not?” The competition was in Russia, though still a fair way away from St. Petersburg, meaning the legal age was eighteen. 

“Yep, but I try to stay away from drinking at competitions,” Phichit said over Yuri’s growl. 

“And you, Yuuri?” Christophe turned to Yuuri, who shook his head. 

“Oh, no, I try not to drink until competitions are over too.” 

“But-” Christophe started, stopping abruptly when Viktor coughed, an obviously fake sound. “Right. I’ll be right back.” 

“What was that about?” Yuuri asked Viktor. 

“Hmm? What was what about?” Viktor was a terrible liar. 

Deciding not to push the issue due to the weird vibe that had fallen over the table, Yuuri looked to Phichit, who seemed just as confused as he did. 

Christophe returned, drinks in hand, easily starting up a conversation with Phichit, who looked all too happy to debate selfie angles and the mechanics of a good picture. There was something so easy about talking to Christophe as if he had a natural charm that drew people in. But it also seemed more than that. 

“Has Chris manifested?” Yuuri asked Viktor quietly, leaning towards him. 

Viktor looked startled for a moment. “Why, yes. He has a pretty subtle charming ability. I’m surprised you noticed.” 

Yuuri shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing about Chris is really ‘subtle’.” 

“That’s true.” 

“What are you guys talking about?” Christophe called. “Looking mighty cozy, aren't you?” With a start, Yuuri realized how close he and Viktor had gotten and jerked back, clearing his throat. 

“Oh, just talking about you,” Viktor retired, unperturbed. “All bad things.”

“Oh really?” Christophe challenged, leaning over the table and putting Viktor into a headlock. “You want to say that again?” 

“All great things, I swear,” Viktor said, laughing. “We were just discussing your sparkling personality.” 

It was nice to see serious, professional,  _ cold _ Viktor leave, fun, sweet, and childish Viktor taking his place. Viktor was so rarely authentic and Yuuri treasured every moment of that authenticity he got, so he was glad Christophe was able to bring out the real Viktor. They must be close.  _ Friends,  _ Yuuri reminded himself.  _ Close friends. _

Eventually, Christophe released Viktor, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. Phichit, who had been recording the whole thing, promised to text it to Christophe, and before he knew it, Yuuri was in a group chat with them, his phone pining with each new message. 

“I’m bored, Yuri announced, and while Yuuri knew he didn’t have to cater to his every whim, he also felt a little bad about leaving him out of the conversation. From what he’d seen in the months spent with Yuri, he seemed to have no friends, especially none his age. Of course, he had his rink mates, but those relationships seemed rocky at best, and Mila, who was closest to his age, was more like an annoying sister to him than a friend. 

Perhaps that explained why Yuri clung so desperately to Viktor, and now, Yuuri. Inserting himself into the older skater’s circle in an attempt to get the attention and recognition he craved. 

Yuuri tried his best to be a constant in Yuri’s life, someone he could always count on, and it seemed that was what Yuri needed as he was undoubtedly his favorite, even for all Yuri claimed that they were rivals. 

“Yeah, I’m done too,” he settled on, propelling their group into motion. Once the check was paid (by Viktor, no matter how much Yuuri protested), they were out on the streets of Sochi, the late spring breeze ruffling their hair. There didn’t seem to be any tabloids around, which Yuuri was grateful for, since he had so rudely ignored them after his earlier performance, He wanted to save all of his speeches for after he had a gold medal strung around his neck, something Yakov agreed to. 

“So, Yuuri, that show you put on…” Christophe slung an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, surprising him. “That sure was something.” 

“Thanks, I think.” Yuuri looked up at him, offering a small smile. “Yours was nice too.”

“Mon ami, that means a lot,” Christophe fake wiped a tear. “Not to be rude, but I didn’t catch your theme” 

“Growth.” From behind him, Yuuri heard Phichit muffle a snort. 

“Well, whatever it was, you’ve turned into something fearsome. It’s been a while since I’ve been pushed off the top of the podium by someone other than Viktor, or occasionally, Georgi.”

“Yeah, well, we still have the free skate, so don’t give up now. And Phichit may surprise you yet.” Yuuri maintained eye contact, and something electric swirled in the air. 

“Looking forward to it,” Christophe purred. 

“Whatever,” Yuri, as subtle as a brick to the face, butt in. “I’ll be on top when it really matters.” 

Tension dissipating, the group dissolved into laughter, continuing their stroll. From what Yuuri could tell, they weren’t really going in a particular direction, just walking. It was nice. 

There were still quite a bit of people about, but no one seemed to recognize their odd group, leaving them in relative peace. 

Turning a corner, Yuuri saw a shower of light, brightly colored flashed illuminating a dancer in front of a small fountain. There were a few people watching, but not really a crowd. She seemed to be able to create the light showers as she danced so Yuuri figured it was safe to say it was her power, or part of it at least. She made eye contact with Yuuri, beckoning him forward as they got closer. Perhaps it was the sparkles of light she made, the night sky above them, or even Viktor’s eyes, hot on his back, but Yuuri accepted, letting himself be drawn into her dance. 

Skinny jeans weren’t the best for dancing in, but Yuuri managed, twisting his body around the woman. She smiled at him, the showers of light reflecting on her teeth, and Yuuri laughed, twirling her around in the parody of a waltz. He was passed then, landing in the arms of an older man who shuffled back and forth with him until he was passed again, ending up as Christophe’s partner. 

A quick look around him showed nearly everyone dancing now, the lights twinkling around them. The few not dancing were clapping, making the music with their hands. Christophe pulled him into a tango, hand sliding against his thigh, and Yuuri gave as good as he got, sashaying back and forth.

Being yanked away from Christophe was a dizzying experience, but he found himself in Phichit’s familiar arms, the two easily falling into a pattern. They had danced together back in Detroit, as part of both of their studies included dance, and Yuuri was sure it showed. Pieces of their old choreography surfaced, the moves comforting and nostalgic. 

This. This was exactly what he needed. 

Dropping into contemporary, the two moved around each other, letting the rhythm dictate their movements. Only hours and hours of practice prevented their feet from tangling together. Grabbing his arm, Phichit pulled Yuuri to Yuri, who hung on the edge of the makeshift dance floor. 

“It’s my turn to beat you!” Yuri crowed, and Yuuri was having too much fun to question what he meant. “I won’t lose this time!” 

Yuuri was, apparently, having a dance-off with Yuri Plisetsky. Keeping the contemporary style, Yuuri mirrored Yuri’s movements,even as the younger dabbled into breakdance-style moves. So sue him, Phichit had dragged him to one of those classes too. 

Eventually, Yuri conceded, reluctantly, and Yuuri spun around, only to find himself face-to-face with Viktor, who looked a little flushed. Not nearly as much as Yuuri did, but definitely exerted. 

“Dance with me?” Viktor asked, eyes sparkling, and Yuuri accepted, pulling him through the people smoothly. It felt like a dream to be dancing with Viktor Nikiforov, not just as his celebrity crush and idol, but also as the man he’d fallen in love with, wholly unperfect and beautiful. 

(And really, it was going to be love. Somewhere, deep down, Yuuri had always known this was coming, known ever since he got on that plane to Russia, known since Viktor first smiled at him, first played shitty pop out of his not-shitty speakers while looking at him like he was the only man in the world.) 

“Are you having fun?” Yuuri questioned breathlessly, and Viktor smiled, heartbreakingly gorgeous, mouth curling into that now achingly familiar heart-shaped smile. 

Yuuri really, really wanted to kiss him. 

But he didn’t. 

*

His heartbeat in his ears, Yuuri glided across the ice, letting his feet do all of the work. He was always praised for his step sequences, and if anything, training with Madame Baranovskaya had only made them better. 

The audience was quiet. 

For some skaters, like Phichit, there would be stomping, clapping, or even cheering, but for Yuuri, it was quiet. 

_ Good, _ he thought, a tad viciously.  _ That means they’re watching.  _

Before he had taken to the ice he had had to have Phichit talk him down, soothing his anxiety with sweet words. Somehow, Phichit always knew what to say, unlike Viktor, who never really could deal with Yuuri when he was like that. But he was trying, each time a little better, and Yuuri couldn’t explain how much that meant to him. 

Thankfully, most of the anxiety had faced, being replaced with euphoria. He was doing this. He was really doing this. The music to his free skate,  _ On: Growth _ was familiar in his ears, each poignant note placed perfectly. The composer had outdone herself. 

Flipping himself into the jumps, Yuuri recounted everything he was going to do. Like in his short program, he had backloaded most of them, making his program extra difficult. 

He had a triple flip coming up, followed by a quad salchow triple lutz combo, then a triple lutz followed by a spin and step sequence. After that was a quad toe loop, followed by a triple axel, and then finally, another quad salchow. He was confident in his abilities to do the last jump, but Yakov had cautioned him, promising there was no shame in making it a triple if he so needed to. 

He wouldn’t need to. 

Starting in on his jumps, Yuuri let his mind drift slightly, head filled with thoughts of the quad flip. He still wasn't great with it, and it was nowhere near competition ready, but he planned to eventually add it to his arsenal, and maybe, just maybe, do it as his final jump, something Viktor had yet to do. 

Reminding himself to keep his breathing steady as he flew through the air, Yuuri managed not to step out of his quad toe loop. Almost to the end of the program. 

Pouring every ounce of emotion he had into his movement, Yuuri barely stopped himself from sprouting something right then and there. Only years of practice and the pricking warning in his palms stopped him. 

An exhale and his program was over, leaving him staring into the rafters as the loud cheers and screams rattled around in his brain. 

*

“So, Katsuki, is there anything you want to say to all of those who doubted you and your career?” A microphone was thrust into his face, and for once, Yuuri didn’t shy away, accepting it with an impossibly wider smile. The gold medal hung heavy around his neck. 

“Thank you, I guess? Your criticism has helped me push forward and change. It was a heavy dose of reality I sometimes needed and I hope now I’ve managed to surpass your expectations. I hope now you see I’m here to say this season, and I plan to take it by storm.” 

“A bold declaration, considering this is only the first competition. Do you truly believe you can hold up, even against the living legend himself?” 

“Yes. Even if I don’t manage to beat Viktor, I’ve still given him a run for his money, something many considered impossible. I think I’ll be happy if I know I’ve given it everything I’ve got.”

“And what about Viktor Nikiforov?” Another reporter cut in. “Can you expand on your relationship with some of the other skaters under Yakov’s tutelage?” 

“I consider Viktor and I not only to be rink mates but also great friends. I hope he feels the same. I can say whoever wins, if it’s even either of us, because let’s be real, there are several other talented skaters giving it their all this season, there'll be no hard feelings.” 

“Thoughts on Yuri Plisetsky? It’s his senior debut, isn’t it? How is that affecting your home rink? Especially since he manifested?” 

“Um, I can’t really say it’s affected us, per se, but more like it’s lit a fire under all of us, no pun intended. Yuri is a formidable opponent and I foresee him becoming a beast, perhaps even surpassing Viktor.” Ignoring the gasps, Yuuri continued. “All in all, I’m lucky to have such great and dedicated rink mates. Many, including Mila Babicheva and Georgi Popovich, have helped me strengthen as a skater and I hope I’ve done the same for them.” 

Questions were then directed towards Phichit and Christophe, who wore bronze and silver respectively. Yuuri used the brief break as a moment to collect himself, taking a few deep breaths. From behind him, Yakov grunted, patting him on the shoulder. Yuuri was pretty sure the action was meant to show his coach’s pride and reassurance and gladly leaned into the touch. 

Once the press coverage was over, Yuuri headed out, Yakov right on his heels. Viktor, Yuri, and Lilia had to fly back to St. Petersburg to get back to training, but they had managed to blow up his phone with congratulation messages. Well, Viktor did. 

“You did great, kid. I knew you could do it.” Yakov stared straight ahead as he voiced his thoughts, and somehow, the action was a little endearing. “Lilia is proud of you too.” 

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, throat a little thick. “I couldn’t have done it without your help. I do have to ask, now, why did you decide to coach me? The real answer?” 

“Shit, kid,” Yakov grunted, scrubbing his face with his hand. “I’d like to say I saw something in your skating but I didn’t, really. Like sure, you had great artistry, but everywhere else seemed to be lacking. It was never my plan to add you to my trainees.” 

“So what changed?” 

“Viktor. He really wanted you here. And I finally agreed, and it was one of the best decisions I could have made, both for my career and yours.”

“Viktor wanted me here?” Yuuri yelped, and Yakov nodded, seemingly not catching on to his confusion. 

“Yeah, and he wouldn’t shut up about it either.” Yakov rolled his eyes, remembering his antics. 

Yuuri, however, was in a state of shock. Why would Viktor be hounding Yakov about him? 

*

After dropping his bags off at his apartment and freshening up slightly, Yuuri ubered over to Viktor’s apartment in a particularly ballsy mood. He had questions that needed to be answered. 

All this time he felt like he had been missing something. All this time, it was like Viktor knew or did something Yuuri  _ should _ know about but didn’t. 

Their first meeting. 

Viktor’s oddly pointed questions or statements. 

Christophe’s odd behavior. 

It all pointed to something, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure it out. 

He knew Viktor’s address and had seen the front of his place, but even after all of the times Viktor had crashed at Yuuri and Yuri’s apartment, he had never been inside. He sort of wondered what it would look like. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Yuuri called, climbing out of the car. Steeling himself, he walked down the row of doors until he found Viktor’s. 

Was it too late? Should he have not come? What if he’s imagining it all, or worse, making it up?

Curling his hand into a fist, Yuuri knocked quietly, then again, louder. 

“One moment!” Viktor called, and Yuuri wiped his hands on his pants as he waited. Jumping when the door was flung open, Yuuri gaped at Viktor who was in sweats and a tee-shirt, obviously ready for bed. 

“Yuuri?” 

“Oh, god, did I wake you up? I shouldn't have come. I’m just gonna- I’m just gonna go,” Yuuri babbled, turning, but before he could escape, Viktor’s cold hand caught his wrist and he was tugged inside. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Viktor led him inside, sitting him on the living room couch, which was leather and white, and so unlike Viktor it snapped him out of it. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m,” Yuuri started, looking up. His eyes were drawn to a window box type thing hanging on the wall, glass clear. In it was a blue flower crown, roses vibrant and alive. “What? Is that…” He stood before he could stop himself, ghosting across the room to get a better look. It was surreal, seeing the flower crown he made, with his powers, over a decade ago, hanging on Viktor’s wall. 

Viktor watched him, forehead scrunched up as if he were worried. 

“But,” Yuuri flailed, searching for words. “I made this.” 

Viktor exhaled, long and hard. “I know.” 

*

For Viktor, it goes like this:

2001 Junior World Championships, held in Sofia, Bulgaria. He was prepared to sell his soul if it meant he could become the next Junior World Champion. 

Taking to the ice, Viktor reveled in the crowd's gaze, waving and winking. His hair was pulled up into a tight, tight ponytail and it kind of hurt his scalp. 

The music started, and Viktor skated his heart out. He  _ would _ win. 

It all seemed to go by in a flash. But, when he was done, he saw a blue flower crown land gracefully on the ice, roses twisted perfectly together. 

Something drew him to it. 

Skating over, he picked it up, placing it on his head. It was beautifully crafted, and he hoped whoever made it was happy seeing him wearing it. 

*

For Viktor, it really goes like this:

Viktor is 27 years old and at another fucking competition. He hates it. Hates it, hates it, hates it. 

But he’s not supposed to say that, is he? He’s supposed to be the little golden poster boy for skating. He’s supposed to dominate and enjoy it for years to come, not feel like a burnt-out disaster who’s not happy.

He’s not happy. 

All of the competitions have started blending together. All of his competitors have started blending together, to the point he doesn’t even bother to learn most of their names. What’s the point? 

His routines have become lackluster and unemotional, and he knows Yakov is this close to being done with him all together. 

But it’s whatever. 

So he goes and skates another perfect performance, smiling plastically at the crowd, and accepting a medal gracefully for the nth time. Of course, he watches the others’ skates, clapping politely as they try, but really, he doesn’t care. 

( _ Well _ , he thinks as a Japanese skater flubs another jump,  _ I guess how bad he is is a surprise. _ )

The banquet is stuffy and boring, and if he has to talk to another sponsor, he’ll probably do something crazy. And unprofessional. 

On the other side of the room, there’s a disturbance. Someone sidles up to him. 

“What’s going on, Chris?” he asks, recognizing the person. 

“Isn’t that your little Yuri? He’s having a dance party with Yuuri Katsuki.” Chris brings him closer, where yep, he can clearly see Yuri doing something that could be considered dancing. The person he’s battling is facing away from Viktor.

“Who?” he questions, watching the man’s lithe figure sway. 

“The last place,” Chris clarifies with an eye roll. “Apparently he’s wasted.” 

“That’s, uh, something,” Viktor manages.

As if he heard his voice from all the way over there, Yuuri Katsuki, sixth place, turns, stumbling to Viktor. Chris, the unhelpful ass, does nothing but laugh. 

“Viktor!” the man cheers, looking up at him with those big, brown eyes. “Dance with me!” 

Viktor, unsure what to do, complies. Katsuki leads him around the room, footwork precise even with his sloppy appearance. “Viktor,” Katsuki croons. “You’re so pretty. But sometimes- sometimes you look so sad.” 

How had this  _ stranger _ seen it when even half the time Viktor couldn’t see it? 

“I think it’s time you go to bed,” he eventually settles on. “Chris, come help me.” 

Together they lead Katsuki out of the ballroom, and vaguely, Viktor is thankful for this chance to escape. 

“Chris!” Katsuki cheers, hugging him. “I missed you!” 

“You know him?” Viktor asked, and Chris nodded. 

“Competed with him in Juniors. Always was incredibly at artistry. Though I’m half-sure he thinks we met tonight” Thinking back to Katsuki’s lackluster performance, Viktor had to admit, it was pretty when he could stay on his feet.

“Chris, Chris, I have a secret,” Katsuki said, and maybe he was trying to whisper, but it didn’t really work. “But you can’t tell Viktor, okay?” 

“Okay,” Chris agreed, eyes flickering amusedly to meet Viktor’s. 

“I named my dog after him.” Katsuki’s eyes began filling with tears, and Viktor started to panic. “But he died last night. And-” Well, that was a pretty good explanation for the performance earlier. Viktor’s heart swelled in empathy. He’d be ruined if his Makkachin died. Would he even be able to get on the ice?

“Shhhh, shhh.” Chris was comforting him, a thousand times better at it than Viktor would be. “I’m sorry Yuuri.” 

“But that’s not all.” If possible, Katsuki’s dropped even more. “I can, uh,” he fumbled for a minute, but soon blue roses were spilling from his hands, petals littering the floor. Viktor would recognize those flowers anywhere after how long he had spent studying them after they just never died. “I made them. For- for Viktor. But he can’t know, okay? Or he’ll think I’m lame and bad.” 

Stopping to scoop all of the fallen petals, Viktor raced to catch up with Chris, who was basically carrying Katsuki at this point. 

“I won’t tell him, okay?” Chris was promising. “But can you tell him in the morning? Would that be alright? I promise he won't think anything bad of you.” 

Katsukis’ face crumpled again, beautiful even in devastation. “All I wanted was to skate the same ice as him, but now I’ve ruined it!” 

They made it to Katsuki’s hotel room, thankfully, and Chris laid him on the bed, undressing him down to his boxers. 

_ The tie had to go _ , Viktor noted idly. 

“Viktor.” Katsuki grabbed Viktor’s arm. “Viktor.” 

“What, Yuuri?” he asked, rolling the name around in his mouth. 

“You're just. Just so wonderful. And I wish I knew you.” He trailed off after that, just gazing up at Viktor. 

Seeing a sharpie on the dresser, Viktor scrawled his number on Katuki’s bicep, patting his hair down. Of course it was super soft. “Try telling me that in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay,” Katsuki agreed, drifting off. Viktor pulled the covers up over him gently, getting him a glass of water from the bathroom. Chris watched from by the door. 

“I texted my coach to text his coach,” Chris said as they shut the door behind him. Viktor felt the petals in his pocket, smoothing them between his fingers. “Never knew he had powers.” 

“Neither did I,” Viktor said honestly. 

“You never knew him before this.” 

“True,” Viktor acknowledged. “But I’d like to get to know him.” 

*

(And when he turned away at the airport, Viktor felt something tugging wrongly in his chest. When he never texted, Viktor felt his heart crack. When he wasn’t rumored to be coming back the next season, Viktor’s heart splintered. But when he didn’t remember that night at all his heart shattered into a billion pieces, crumbling into dust.)

*

“I can’t believe I don’t remember any of that.” Yuuri put his face in his hands. “I am so sorry.” 

“You’re here now,” Viktor told him softly. “But you’re here now and it’s okay.” 

“I wondered why you seemed a little weird when we first met, but I didn’t- I couldn’t even imagine something like this! I just thought I had gotten blackout drunk and embarrassed myself a little, not thrown myself at you and had a dance-off with Yura! That’s why he wanted to have the other night.” 

And was it just the other night? Because it felt like eons ago. 

“Zolotse, it’s okay.” Viktor pulled him back down onto the couch, curling around him. “You know now. And I got to know you anyway, so I think it’s a win for the both of us.” 

Yuuri dared to look over at him. Viktor seemed unapologetic, and honestly, over it. It made Yuuri feel a little better. 

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Yuuri muttered, and Viktor laughed. 

“Anyway, what were you here for?” 

“Uh, funny story, I was coming to figure out what the hell I’d been missing, but I got my answer, so.” He made no move to distance himself from Viktor and Viktor made no move to distance himself from Yuuri. 

“I’m glad it’s all out in the open,” Viktor sighed. “Chris has been telling me just to tell you.” 

“I’m glad you did,” Yuuri said quietly, squeezing Viktor’s hand. 

“I do have one question, though,” Viktor spoke up, and Yuuri nodded. “How are the flowers still alive? I kept waiting for them to die and they never did.” 

Yuuri flushed a deep, deep red. ‘Oh boy,” he muttered. “Okay, so basically since my powers manifested from a powerful emotion, the emotion is essentially what keeps them alive. So since I still have that emotion, er, for you, the flowers are still blooming.” 

Viktor tilted Yuuri’s head up, a finger under his chin. “And what emotion is that?” 

“Well,” Yuuri hedged. “Like, I suppose. Affection.” 

“Just like?” Was it Yuuri or did Viktor sound disappointed? 

“Love, I suppose,” Yuuri finally said, and Viktor smiled, a new smile, just for him. It was slow and honey-sweet, sliding across his face. 

“That’s a relief,” Viktor said, and Yuuri cocked his head. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“It’d be awkward if you didn’t love me back and I did this.” Viktor pulled him forward and into a kiss. 

His mouth was hot, hot on his, and so incredibly right. Viktor tasted like ice, like warmth, like everything Yuuri hadn’t known he was missing. He tasted like mint toothpaste and bubblegum mouthwash, and something that was completely and fully Viktor.

Viktor sucked gently on Yuuri’s lower lip, before pulling away. Yurri shamelessly chased after him. 

“So you…” Yuuri trailed off, hardly believing it. 

“Yes.” Viktor nodded, suddenly looking unsure. “If that’s okay?” 

“More than okay,” Yuuri whispered. “This may be the best day of my life.” 

Drawing his power forth, Yuuri grew another blue rose, presenting it to Viktor, who looked delighted. 

“I’m so glad, Zolotse.” And wow, Yuuri really needed to work on his Russian. He wanted to understand what Viktor called him, damn it. “I love you, Yuuri.” 

“I love you too,” Yuuri said, pressing the words into Viktor’s skin, and it felt like coming home. 

**Author's Note:**

> well, you made it! please leave a kudos and comment/review!
> 
> check out my tumblr [here](https://leviathans-watching.tumblr.com/)


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